Be What Love Is

by Malouff, Ellie

Handshakes

  Cara

  Morning light seeps into the breakfast nook where Reid has already set up his newspaper, half a grapefruit, and a plate of sausage. He’s not sitting at the table, so I wander into the kitchen and find him there, cursing at the espresso machine, the steamer blowing hot air and little spurts of water. He rushes to the sink and runs cold water over his hand.

  “Jesus, Reid.” I dash to the machine and turn it off. There’s espresso everywhere while milk foam spreads over the countertop. “Don’t you know how to use this thing?”

  “No,” he says sharply and nurses his hand under the tap.

  I get a closer look, and sure enough, he has a steam burn. “Rookie mistake,” I tell him and start to clean up the mess he made. It’s not lost on me that this wouldn’t have happened if Mrs. McHenry was here. That notion makes me do something like a smirk in his direction. “Hey, since we’re all on our own now, would you like me to teach you how to use this?”

  He shuts off the tap and wraps a towel around his hand. “It’s not rocket science,” he says and joins me in front of the high-end appliance.

  “From the look of it, I think you need all the help you can get. Let me show you how to make the perfect latte.”

  He leans against the counter and watches as I make the espresso. As I pour milk into the stainless steel pitcher I tease him, “You may want to stand back for this.”

  He doesn’t find it as funny as I do but takes a step back nonetheless. When the milk is perfect, I shut off the steamer, wipe down the wand, and then purge it. All the while, keeping an eye on the rookie.

  I pour the espresso into a roomy coffee cup, add the foamy milk and finish by drawing my signature rosette heart on the surface.

  “Voila! The perfect latte.”

  “You’re quite the barista, then?”

  “Yep,” I answer while I start on a second one. “One of the best they’ve ever had, or so the manager told me yesterday when I called to quit.”

  “You quit your job?” he asks and tosses the towel on the counter.

  “Yeah.” While I let that sink in for a moment, I notice he’s a little more put together than usual, if that’s even possible. There’s something about his hair like he worked a little harder on styling it. And I smell a light dash of cologne over the aroma of the espresso. Maybe it’s aftershave since he’s so clean-shaven. Is his pesky girlfriend coming over later? Dread gnaws at me, but I don’t dare attempt to understand why. Instead, I focus on making my own latte.

  He scratches his chin a few times. “I suppose quitting makes sense. You can focus solely on graduate school.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I tell him. “There’s this internship I’ve had my eye on for a while in a rare book and manuscript library. There’s a small stipend that goes with it, but not quite enough to cover my bills. Now I can actually go for it. So, I submitted my application yesterday.”

  His expression is impossible to read, but I sense tension in his body. “Well, hopefully, you’ll be able to go home soon. We should try to increase our pace so we can get back to our lives as soon as possible.”

  Ouch. I don’t know why, but that stings. Perhaps it’s just a general desire to be liked by everyone and when he says stuff like that it makes me feel like he is completely miserable being around me. Do I really get under his skin so much?

  With a definite smirk on my face this time, I hand him one of the lattes. He takes a modest sip and then a bigger one. “Well, I know who’s making the coffee from here on out,” he teases, and I try to laugh, I really do, but I’m still pretty upset that the McHenrys are gone.

  Once we’re settled with our lattes, his sausage, and my toast, breakfast is quiet and awkward. Yesterday was a rough day for us. I’m not sure we will ever get along. I suppose we don’t have to. I mean, this is business, right? I’m sure that’s how Reid is approaching this.

  Maybe I should be a little more like him by taking my heart out of it and just approaching it as a necessary ordeal that needs to be handled, like applying for scholarships or filing a tax return. But that’s easier said than done because while Reid keeps his nose in the financial section, all I do is stare out the window and wonder if my grandfather liked one or two shots in his morning coffee. Now I’ll never know.

  Reid

  As predicted, the task of going through the place room-by-room is turning out to be painfully slow. Cara wants to look at everything, think on everything, and make a decision about everything. She’s driving me mad.

  Montgomery & Lewis matters never quite stop, so I’ve been working when I can and take quite a few calls, each time taking only a few steps away so I can keep an eye on what Cara’s evaluating. So far there hasn’t been anything of significant value that she wants to keep. Quite the opposite actually. She usually holds onto the things that don’t have any real value, like scratched vinyl records and handwritten notes. In fact, the notes and documents are clearly of particular interest to her. She studies each one carefully.

  I’ve caught Cara watching me on the phone a few times, and I can’t tell if she’s annoyed that I’m not participating or relieved to have me step aside.

  Victoria calls in the late afternoon, and I step into the hallway for a little privacy.

  “I just finished meeting with the Collins Group,” she starts.

  “Wait, what? You met without me?”

  “I’m sorry, Reid. It’s not the same with you out in the country. You know how fast things like this can move. I couldn’t get a bridge open.”

  “For fuck’s sake, that’s what assistants are for, Vic.”

  “They were really disappointed that they didn’t see you at the meeting. I hope you know what you’re doing with this estate nonsense. It better be worth it.”

  I tug at my hair and sigh. The truth is, we haven’t found anything at all extraordinary, and I’m about to dump all of my frustration on Victoria, but Cara catches my eye. She’s just opened a trunk and has started to pull out small jewelry boxes.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait, you seriously need to get back here ASAP. Losing Trevor was bad enough.”

  My throat goes dry when she mentions his name. “I know. I’ll talk to you soon,” I reply and end the call.

  “What are these?” Cara asks as I join her on the floor.

  “Jewelry, I suspect.”

  She watches with a curious face as I carefully open one. Inside is a beaded necklace with a lumpy sea glass stone in the center. I pull it out of the box and hold it up for her to see.

  “That’s pretty,” she whispers.

  “This must be Anna’s stash of jewelry she used to make with my mum. They once sold these for charity.” A smile touches my lips as I remember the two sisters together, tinkering with stones and wires and pliers. I hold the necklace high and examine it. “I forgot that they did this.”

  “It’s lovely. They were very talented.”

  “I think it was all Anna, but mum helped her find the materials. They used to take trips to the seaside and look for pieces.”

  As I continue to study the necklace, Cara softly sighs. “I’m sure you’d like to keep these.”

  No! My chest tightens at her assumption, and I’m forced to take a deep breath. Mementos, artifacts, heirlooms, I want none of it. I never did. “I have no use for these. If you’d like to keep one, feel free. Otherwise, they can go to auction.”

  She covers her face and groans.

  Without thinking twice, I take hold of her hands and pull them away from her face. “What the bloody hell is it now?”

  Cara’s eyes go wild as she squeezes my hands. “These don’t mean something to you?”

  Her force matches her undeniable passion, and for one brief moment, as we’re skin-to-skin, I want to bend. I want to care about all of this. The house, the jewelry, the letters. I want to care for her. But I’ve trained myself too well. I’m practiced in the art of letting go.

  “I bet they’re worth a decent
amount,” I deflect. It takes her a few seconds to fully comprehend my comment before pulling my hands from her grasp. Disappointment oozes from her and pools around us. I don’t have it in me to explain to her why I’m resisting, so I leave it at that.

  She arches an eyebrow and looks away from me. Our differences cannot be overcome, that much is clear. Today will probably end up like yesterday, with her hiding in her room the rest of the night. I half expect her to get up and rush out the door.

  But, Cara Montgomery is full of surprises.

  She turns back to me. “What if we put these up for auction at the C.I.C. gala? You know, for charity? Don’t you think Anna would have appreciated that? I’m sure we can raise quite a bit for these.”

  I’m relieved, plain and simple, that she didn’t run away, nor did she press.

  There are pros and cons to her idea. Sure we’d lose out on some cash, but there are tax benefits to be gained. And as silly as it is to consider Anna’s post-mortem approval, Cara does have a point about that. As long as I unload the pieces, I suppose it doesn’t matter where they end up. Still, it would be much easier, and altogether faster, to send them to auction with everything else.

  I’m about to argue that point when my gaze returns to Cara’s face. Her eyes are eager as she analyzes me and her lips are pinched together and slightly upturned as if she has to hold in an impassioned plea while she waits for my answer. She seems. . .hopeful.

  Before I know it, the words come tumbling out. “That’s a good idea. I’ll call C.I.C. and see if they can make that happen.”

  Her eyes widen as a smile blooms across her gorgeous face. “Really?”

  Pleasing her feels a whole lot better than fighting her. “Sure, why not?”

  While I pace around and speak to the folks at C.I.C., Cara opens each box and sorts it into piles by sets that match. She’s smiling as she does it, every now and again, sweeping a wavy strand of hair behind her ear as she moves around. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her yet and when she’s happy she’s even prettier than usual. Did I make her happy? If so, that was rather easy.

  My call wraps up, and I’m about to join her again when I stop in my tracks. She has just opened the last box, and her eyes widen. With my arms crossed, I lean against the doorframe and watch as she takes a necklace out of the box and holds it high. It’s a lumpy red dewdrop pendant on a delicate gold chain. The giant smile she’s been sporting turns into something much more hungry. She bites her bottom lip as she admires it, and I bite mine as I admire her. Without a doubt, I’ll give her that necklace on the day of the gala. I want to see her this happy again.

  She lets the necklace dangle from her fingers and mumbles, “So pretty.”

  “Very much so,” I say. Her cheeks pink. I think she’s caught on that I’m talking about her and not the necklace. She giggles a little as she puts the necklace back in the box. “Well, we’re on,” I tell her and slip my phone back into my pocket as I walk over to the trunk.

  “Fantastic,” she exclaims and gets up. “We should pack them up. I’ll go find a box.”

  As she’s walking out of the room, an idea strikes. “Hey, wait.”

  She stops at the doorway and looks back at me. Her eyes are sparkling with excitement. I’m sure she’ll go for what I’m about to propose.

  “Yeah?”

  “They asked me to say a few words about it for the silent auction. Since you’ll be at the gala, and this was your idea, I thought you could join me on stage.”

  A beautiful smile spreads across her face once again, and I am filled with a similar sense of satisfaction that I get when I land a big investor. “I would love to,” she replies and takes off to find a box, with a giddy hop in her step.

  And then I realize what’s she done. She’s won. She made me care about the stuff. She figured out a way for me to honor Anna, and my mum for that matter, in the shape of charity. It’s confusing that this pleases me, considering I’m the one who lost.

  Cara

  Reid and I have just wrapped up another room when my stomach growls. He perks up and gives me a sideways glance.

  “What?” I ask, embarrassed.

  “You should have had lunch.”

  “You didn’t have lunch,” I shoot back.

  “Sure I did, you just didn’t notice,” he says and leans back against the wall.

  “Shut up, you so didn’t eat.”

  He playfully scoffs. “I most certainly did. It was when you absolutely insisted on going through that pile of old magazines we found three rooms ago. Flipping through every page. What did you expect to find?”

  I don’t want to share with him that I’m searching for clues about my dad, so I turn the tables. “I must have thought that you were on one of your business calls again.”

  “Are you making a comment on my business calls, Miss Montgomery?”

  I smile at the formality. “Maybe,” I say and stick my tongue out a bit. My god, am I flirting? Why? What is it about him that brings that out in me when just a day ago I wanted to rip him apart?

  “So you know, while you’re nose-deep in an old issue of Country Life, I have to keep things moving. The markets don’t start and stop on my schedule.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I reply, and my stomach growls again.

  “You should really take care of that,” he says and points to my tummy.

  “Well maybe if you hadn’t fired Mrs. McHenry I would be more inclined to eat. I mean, who else is going to serve me gourmet meals?”

  He squeezes his bottom lip between his fingers and doesn’t say anything. Is he angry? Maybe. I don’t care. It’s the truth after all.

  “Meet me in the dining room at seven,” he says, spins around on his heel, and takes off down the hall.

  “Wait, what?” I ask and follow him out.

  He’s nearing the stairs when he yells back. “Seven o’clock, sharp.”

  “Um,” I say to no one and wander over to my bedroom. “Okay, then.”

  I pass the time by taking a much-needed shower and painting my toenails with some red polish I found in one of the rooms. My stomach continues to growl, but I’m not sure if it’s okay to go near the kitchen or not. Surely he wouldn’t make me wait upstairs and starve. I pace around the room and decide that I don’t care what he said. I need to eat. I quickly dry my hair and make my way downstairs.

  When I get to the kitchen, I’m shocked. “Reid?”

  “I said seven o’clock,” he barks as he pulls out a baking sheet from the oven and sets it on the counter. The smell is divine.

  “What do you have there?” I ask, ignoring his other comment. “Is that chicken?”

  He squeezes a lemon into a bowl with oil and starts to whisk rapidly. “Yes, it’s chicken if you must know.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Are you making this for me?”

  He pours the oil over a bed of greens in a salad bowl.

  “For me as well. This was supposed to be a surprise,” he says hurriedly as he tosses a loaf of French bread in the oven to warm.

  I make my way over to the chicken that’s cooling off and pick at it, not caring how hot it is.

  “Oi! What are you doing?” he asks and smacks my hand away.

  “I’m starving! Please,” I beg and grab at it again.

  “You’re just going to eat it at the counter-top? Don’t you want to sit down and eat properly?”

  “Of course,” I reply and pull off another piece and stuff it in my mouth before he can swat it away.

  “Goodness, Cara. Manners are lost on you.”

  “This is incredible,” I say between bites.

  “I’d take it as a compliment if you weren’t completely devouring it. I think you’d find a shoe delectable at this point.”

  Reid is right, and honestly, this isn’t anything more than baked chicken with rosemary and olive oil. Not exactly Gordon Ramsey here.

  He shakes his head and goes to work on uncorking a bottle of white wine.

  “Can I help?” I ask.
>
  He pours himself a glass of wine and takes a big gulp. “Well, I was going to serve dinner in the dining room the way Mrs. McHenry would have done it, but that’s pointless now. Let’s just eat in here.”

  This must be his way of apologizing for the McHenrys. I’m a bit touched. “Sounds, perfect,” I say and put the remaining chicken breasts on a plate.

  We set ourselves up at the breakfast table where we started our day. It’s beautifully informal.

  “So you can cook,” I note.

  “A little.”

  “I just assumed, based on the espresso drama this morning, that it wasn’t your thing.”

  “I know my way around the kitchen,” he says and pours another glass of wine. “Do you like cooking?”

  “Yeah, I suppose, but I’m not great at it. When you’re a starving student, there’s not much to do with it. My mom never really learned to cook when she lived here, and so she wasn’t able to teach me.”

  “That makes sense since Mrs. McHenry did all the cooking. Your mum was probably busy with social activities and school.”

  “I guess so. She doesn’t talk about it much. I only have my memories to go off of.”

  “If I may ask, how old was she when you were born?”

  “Eighteen. I’m sure it was quite the scandal,” I say and take a big sip of the wine.

  He looks down at his plate. “Probably.”

  I know that it was. It had to be.

  “And your father?” he asks, timidly. I can tell he’s uncomfortable. “You never knew him?”

  “Nope,” I chirp, a little too sharp.

  “I’m sorry,” he says and pushes the food around on his plate. He’s being so forward. The English manners angel that takes up residence on his shoulder has got to be chastising him big time.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I grumble. It is a big deal, but I’m not comfortable sharing that with Reid at this point. “You can’t miss someone that you never knew.”

  He sighs and picks up the nearly empty wine bottle. “Would you like more?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I reply, happy for the subject change. We both take a long drink, and our eyes rest on each other. My cheeks warm, which I blame on the wine and not the magnetic feeling I get when he’s in sight. Yeah, it’s the wine all right. “Tell me what to expect at the C.I.C. gala, I’m kind of nervous.”